Okay, you are likely very anxious for this chapter. I know it is a little overdue, but I've had a lot on my plate lately. And this chapter is a little shorter. Still, all the feedback made me happy and I hope you find this worth the wait.
Most of you seemed to like the last chapter, though at least one person preferred to think of the whole "great kings of the past" thing as more metaphorical than a literal situation in the movie. I completely respect that viewpoint. If you don't want to consider what happened to Timon in the last chapter as an actual event and just assume it was a hallucination brought on by nearly being dead, you are free to make that choice. If you prefer to think he really did have a conversation with Mufasa and Sarabi, that is also a valid interpretation (and the one I like better). Either view works.
Edit: I kind of posted this in a hurry. After a day or two, I realized that I both left out a scene that I originally wanted to have in this last chapter and I didn't have it quite up to the quality I prefer. This is what happens when you're too busy to write properly. I hope that no one minds a repost for this chapter.
Lashing out at the next closest lioness, Aziza moved closer to that annoying pig that caused this mess. If the rest of Kondo's followers hadn't chased him, the warthog would not have been able to lead them into this mess. Fighting Simba's pride was a challenge they didn't want or need, but they had no choice now. They had to defeat them all, withdraw from the Pride Lands entirely, or somehow manage to beat the felines into submission. They were supposed to kill the king and merge the two groups. That plan was no longer an option. And it was all that fat pig's fault.
Some of the lionesses she was facing were actually fairly effective fighters. Not all, but some seemed to show quite a bit of practice at working as a unit against a target that wasn't a frightened wildebeest. It made her mission to hunt down that annoying swine through the rain and snarling felines all the more difficult. But her eyes remained locked on the prey.
The warthog was actually doing rather well also. He was charging through the mess of lionesses, ramming into any feline that wasn't native to the Pridelands. There was a reason why a boar warthog was not the preferred choice when it came to prey. It might be possible to catch them and kill them, but they could also gore a lioness rather effectively if they were angry enough. They weren't as dangerous as hippos, but there were far easier options on the savanna.
When she drew near the swine, Aziza prepared to pounce on him while he was turned towards another opponent. The pig would be dead. It would not make up for all the frustrations of the rest of the destruction of the plan, but it still be satisfying to slaughter the beast who managed to drag the well-organized pride of lionesses away from their target. Perhaps if she killed him, Kondo would forgive their actions.
As she leapt though, another feline rammed into. Aziza, furious at the interruption, tried to wrestle the lioness out of the way and began throwing her weight against her. Somehow this struggle quickly led the attacker to end up on top of the invader and she pinned Aziza to the ground.
Before the feline, a strong individual with blue-green eyes and an expression of fury, could try ripping out her captive's throat, a piercing roar rang over the fighting group. Racing into view was a rather distraught and angry Faika, her voice carrying even over the sounds of battle.
"He's dead," she shouted, capturing everyone's attention. "He is dead."
"Simba?" asked the lioness pinning Aziza in place, her voice horrified.
Faika continued, "I saw his death. Kondo is dead. He fell from the cliff."
This statement left the collection of felines stunned. Those who once followed the now-deceased lion were halting their attack, uncertain of what to do now that their leader was gone. Even the slightest chance of taking over the Pridelands was now dashed to pieces. Actually, their plan was beyond broken. It was ripped to shreds and completely beyond any type of recovery. Every thing that Kondo spoke of, his idea to turn their pride into the most powerful and successful group with a vast hunting ground that would ensure prosperity for all of time, had come to naught. Faika finally slowed down as she neared the group of felines, her eyes seeking out the members of her pride. With the death of her mate, she would be the one in charge.
Growling under her breath, Aziza asked, "What would have us do, Faika?"
"We go home," she answered simply. "We go home and mourn our loss. There is nothing left to be gained here."
A few lionesses glanced at her, not quite believing her decision. But they obeyed. They extracted themselves out of tangle of felines, glaring at their surroundings as they moved. Several wanted to try to finish things, to drive off Simba's pride and take over. But they had lost their leader, so they should go back home. They would have to wait for Kondo's son to grow up. Sabra lacked the ambition of his father, but he was a patient and intelligent young lion that would someday rule over them quite well.
Aziza, climbing to her feet, gave one last look towards the swine. She wished that she could make one last attempt to kill that annoying warthog. He met her gaze with a rather stubborn one of his own. She would have loved to turn him into a delicious meal, but the pig was supported by several lionesses and Aziza knew that it wasn't worth the effort since they were leaving. But if the annoying prey animal ever wandered away from the Pridelands, she hoped that she found him first.
Simba's lionesses stared at them, untrusting of the invaders. At the first sign of trouble, the felines would resume the attack. The native pride still had their ears flattened and several of them were growling. But they allowed the group to flee into the rain and darkness unhindered.
Pain and exhaustion greeted him rather rudely as he slowly struggled out of unconsciousness. Moving was certainly out of the question. Breathing was almost too much effort. All he could manage was the shallowest breaths without feeling even worse than he did at the moment. And even that felt like it was taking more energy than it should. It was a scary thought, but he was struggling to dig up enough strength for each tiny breath. But it was getting a little easier as he continued to wake up. He could focus on his limited energy and get past the pain a little.
He felt completely battered, as if several herds of wildebeests decided stampede over him and then an elephant stomped on him for good measure. His back was agonizing, the sharp pain far worse than he ever remember experiencing before in his entire life. He was just too tired and it hurt so much that he wanted nothing more than to sink back into the numb darkness again. Something told him, however, that if he fell back asleep right now, he would never wake up again.
Trying to focus on something besides the pain and exhaustion, Timon began to notice that he was wet. Was it raining? Or did he end going over another waterfall? He couldn't think properly. It was too much effort to try remembering or considering what was going on around him. All he knew was that he was definitely wet.
There was something important. He was supposed to do something important. Or he already did something important. Something about Kondo. Or Simba. Or both. The details were a little fuzzy at the moment. It almost felt as if he'd just finished a conversation, but forgot half of it immediately. Still, even if he couldn't summon the energy to recall the facts, he could sense that he needed to do more than simply lying there and trying to forget that he felt awful.
The first step to trying to figure out what was going on would probably be to open his eyes. With that decision in mind, he began searching for the strength to make such an attempt.
He didn't know how long he remained there, curled protectively around the small and broken shape of his friend. The first hint that at least some time had passed was when Simba noticed that the rain was beginning to slow to a mild drizzle. The storm was passing.
A breeze began to trickle around him, tugging at his ears and soaked mane. The sensation seemed rather familiar, as if it wasn't merely the wind that was the source of the feeling. There was nothing about the breeze that should seem unusual, but something told the lion that it a sign of his father's presence. His eyes were pulled skywards, staring at a tiny break in the clouds where he could glimpse a couple of bright stars. The sight and breeze made him feel less alone at that moment.
A tiny, soft sound made the lion's ears prick forward and a spark of desperate hope formed. He glanced back down to the limp figure. The meerkat still appeared like a broken and crumpled figure, but now he could see a slight flutter of motion as his eyes opened. That small sign of life left Simba stunned.
Cautiously, almost afraid to hope, he whispered, "Timon?"
The meerkat blinked tiredly and his gaze slowly met the lion's. He didn't know what to say. He'd been so certain that the small mammal was dead. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that he was looking at him, the feline would probably still think he was dead. Simba knew he'd come very close to losing his friend. Far, far too close.
Taking a shuddering breath, the meerkat greeted tiredly, "Hey, kid."
Even if his voice sounded completely exhausted and it looked like it cost him a great deal of effort, Simba couldn't help smiling at small mammal. The fact that he was awake and talking was a fairly good sign that he was going to be all right.
"Don't scare me like that again," the lion whispered, leaning his face closer. "What were you thinking? Kondo could have killed you."
Somehow, Timon managed a weak smile, "You kidding? I had right where… I wanted him. All part of… my plan."
"You had a plan?" he asked incredulously.
"Course. I'm the brains… of this outfit," reminded the meerkat, sounding mildly stronger than when he first spoke.
"And what was your master plan?"
There was a moment of silence before he admitted, "I had no plan. Don't know… what came over me. I… just reacted." There was a pause before he added, "And if I ever… try something that… crazy again, stop me."
"No problem," agreed the lion. "But it apparently worked. Kondo didn't survive."
"Good riddance," he muttered.
Simba stared at the meerkat, one of his best friends for most of his life and one of the wonderful individuals who raised him. Timon wasn't mentioning what he said up on the cliff edge. And the lion wasn't going to bring it up. He knew how the small mammal felt about him. They didn't have to say it again. Besides, actions speak louder than words. And a tiny meerkat attacking a full-grown lion is a rather strong action, even if the years together previously didn't already prove how deep their friendship was.
"Pumbaa's probably worried," remarked Timon tiredly.
The lion nodded, "We need to get home. We need to let everyone know what's happened."
Even as the words left his mouth, Simba knew there was no possible way that the meerkat would be walking out of there. He was managing to have a conversation, but it was highly unlikely keep even that up for long. The feline couldn't even be certain that Timon would be able to remain balanced on the lion's back, even if he normally rode on Pumbaa's without hesitation.
Trying to consider his options, Simba absently licked the meerkat's back in manner reminiscent of how his mother used to groom him as a cub. The small mammal gave a tiny moan of protest, but gave no further complaint. Clearing away the blood and rainwater revealed a set of scratches that ran parallel across his back. They were unpleasantly deep for such a small animal, but they could have been worse. He knew that they were the result of Kondo trying to claw the meerkat off right before the pair fell off the cliff. He also knew that, if it hadn't been such a glancing blow, the cuts could have done more serious damage. Specifically, it could have killed Timon. Even if he'd survived the fall, he could have been killed by Kondo's claws.
Simba felt immensely thankful for his friend's luck.
"Okay, okay," mumbled the meerkat. "I'm clean. Can we go now?"
Smiling slightly at the familiar words, the lion replied, "Sure. We can go."
Unable to think of any better ways to get home, Simba gently picked up Timon in his mouth. It wasn't quite how he might carry a lion cub; the meerkat lacked the scruff of the neck required for that particular maneuver. Instead, he closed his mouth around the middle of the small mammal so that his head and limbs dangled out. It might make his friend look more like a snack, but it was the only way he could devise to move Timon without having to worry about him being hurt.
Any other meerkat in this situation would be in a state of absolute panic. No, that would be wrong. Any other meerkat in this situation would be giving up all hope and accepting their imminent demise. When you are dangling in the mouth of a predator, already hurt and the idea of even trying to move seems like an impossible task, it generally means that mere seconds separate you from being swallowed. And, for any other meerkat and any other lion, that would probably be true.
But not for him. Timon wasn't even mildly disturbed by this point about the idea of being carried around like an appetizer as long as it was Simba who was doing the carrying. He was hurt, tired, and absolutely in a state that any hungry predator would have no difficulty finishing off. But it wasn't that worrying. The big, sharp, pointy teeth that were now holding him were not going to hurt him.
Well, they wouldn't hurt him any more than he was already. Any kind of moving wasn't that fun currently. Even Simba licking his back earlier felt rather unpleasant. But he knew that the lion was trying to be careful, so he didn't complain about it. It wasn't the kid's fault he decided to launch a suicidal attack against Kondo. It wasn't his fault that his back felt like it was sliced to shreds and the rest of him felt like he'd been pounded to a pulp. It was the meerkat's own fault for doing something crazy.
But, for the moment, he felt safe and rather happy. He wasn't dead. Simba wasn't dead. Pumbaa was probably not dead. After all, the warthog could outrun the lionesses if he kept his wits. All of three of them escaping with their lives was a rather nice outcome.
Timon tried to relax as the predator moved carefully back in the direction of Pride Rock. Some odd thought kept trying to reinsert itself into his tired mind. Something about stars… and great leaders…
Across the savanna a great distant from any other feature, a tall baobab tree stood. Though the passing storm stirred the leaves, the inhabitant of the tree stared at the sky without any concern for the weather. The wise primate held his staff tightly and chuckled softly.
"You always did like to meddle, Mufasa," he commented softly, eyeing the twinkling stars that peeked through the cloud coverage. "At least you did not need me to play matchmaker this time."
A breeze gently stirred the fruit attached to his staff. He shook his head at the sound produced.
"I do not care if you think Ol' Rafiki is good at it," he remarked. "Uniting two warring prides of lions by helping Kovu and Kiara fall in love was hard enough. It is not a task that I shall be repeating."
The wind this time blew against the closest tree branches, knocking a few leaves loose. The primate watched the rain-soaked pieces of vegetation drift down, catching one and he looked at it more closely.
"He'll be fine. It may have taken him time to find his way and even longer to realize his true role, but I think your talk made it through to the stubborn meerkat," he stated confidently. "They may be an odd family, but they are a family none the less." The primate shook his head, "He found his true Hakuna Matata. He just wouldn't admit it until you told him it was all right."
I hope you enjoyed this story and feel that the ending was at least semi-satisfying. I absolutely love all the support I received for this tale. The various reviews made me smile and kept me motivated. So, I offer my thanks to all my loyal readers.